Oh, Mr. Darcy

Chapter the First: The Initiation of a Spirited Young Lady

Freshly hewn and watered swards of grass complied and supplicated under a dainty pair of feet. These tender appendages belonged to Rose Erdely, who was a newly admitted co-educational student to these hallowed halls of higher education. A precocious and gifted young damsel ever since she was a toddling and mewling babe, Rose was a nubile 18 and yet already a scholarship student.

With idealistic dreams of making the world a better place with the power of her eventual (yet inevitable) degree in feminist literature, she deftly took in her new surroundings:

Like every depiction of the Joe College—or should that be “Jane College”—life I’ve seen since I was but a small girl. Like something out of a J.C. Leyendecker illustration come to life. Oh, I shouldn’t admire his works, all those brutal men…but then again, he was OVERWHELMINGLY steeped in the gayness.

Rose just knew that she would be the metaphorical belle of the ball and be surrounded by friends, the friends that had for the most part mysteriously eluded her in public school, despite her perfect fair skin, full bosom, shapely and trim hips and waist, long, smooth legs, and a celestial personality. For this was college, and she would be accepted for who she was.

Chapter the Second: A Most Unfortunate Animal Magnetism

Languidly, Rose packed her books into her bag and left the room. The toil of her many books strained her delicate shoulders, but such drudgery was more than worth studying such academic richness, studies that would make the world a better place for all womynkind, and—

“Psh, feminist literature! I don’t even know why we have this at the school; that’s a fast track to unemployment!” Cruel words cruelly rang out behind Rose, a voice smooth as honey and deep as the thunder, yet tinged with the harshest mockery.

Indignant, young Rose smartly turned on her heels to address this impudence, and her breath was taken from her by a cruelly handsome visage-; the voice had come from a brute standing behind her, a tall, dark, strong, and handsome brute with piercing blue eyes and a mane of black hair that cascaded down to bull shoulders and a series of hills of rolling muscle.

A guffaw signified that his friend has found his jest most amusing as well, that friend being an equally brawny blonde beast in a letterman’s jacket.

Rose was torn between her emotional and moral disgust for such beasts, and an inadvertent, unconscious fixation on their harsh yet captivating faces. Their light eyes, their flippant sneers and smirks…oh! Rose could feel the delicate flower of womanhood trembling in a sublime stew of mostly negative emotions!

Hurriedly, she turned away, running as fast as her tiny feet could carry her, tears welling in her eyes, a fair feminine heart overwhelming by a torrent of feeling, As she ran, she dropped her copy of The Feminine Mystique.

Chapter the Third: In Which a Guard is Let Down

It was a crisp October day, and Rose sat on a bench outside in the commons, finishing off the last of her homework with Jack, a boy from class. She looked at Jack and gave him an earnest smile, which made him charmingly avert his eyes and shuffle his papers. Jack was putting Rose at ease with his supplicating non-offensiveness, and Rose was quite thankful for this.

“So, Jackie, my boy…any plans for the weekend?” Rose inquired.

“Oh, gee, uh…no….” Jack said, continuing to avert his eyes from Rose, with the exception of one furtive glance he could just barely bear to make with her eyes.

“Well, I was actually thinking…”

“Yeah, Rose?”

“Well, it seems that there’s some sort of fraternity mixer on Saturday. I thought I should attend; it might be nice to meet new people.”

“Um…uh, don’t you think this is a bit irresponsible, Rose?” Jack said, his voice raising slightly. “To be alone and unprotected amongst strangers?” he stammered.

Rose took a long look at her platonic male companion, and contemplated.

Would it not be wise to bring a man along, especially one like Jack? I mean, he looks like he could bench 120 pounds! But no! I don’t need a man!

“I’m sorry, Jack, but I have to go alone. They will feel the cold power of feminist literature, and I shall know no fear!”

Chapter the Fourth: Sabine Women

The halls of Zeta Chi’s sorority house swirled with activity. Young ladies and gentlemen in all their finery mingled and chatted…mingling and chatting that stopped the second Rose strode in. Makeup on point, hair cascading gloriously, and a dress hugging her figure just so, she was an image that could take the breath away from both sexes.

And like the spiritual queen she was, she strutted through the building, taking in the adulation of all around her. All except…them.

Those two beasts from the commons! They were clad in blue blazers and khaki slacks, their hair carefully coifed and tied, but there was no mistaking those brawny physiques, those wolfish looks, those lips practically slavering with…intention.

“Hey, little lady…!” they snarled.

“What ar—“ Rose stammered, before they pounced.

As if on cue, the crowd parted, and the floor was cleared as Rose was violently swept off her feet and pulled into the iron embrace of the raven-haired giant. Her tiny white hands pounded on his broad, iron-like chest futilely, as he power-bombed her through a nearby plate glass table.

“Let me get in there!” the blonde roared as he grabbed Rose’s hair. Powerful hands pulled her every which way, brutally groping every inch of her body while meandering towards the ultimate goal of ripping Rose’s clothes off. Her glistening white body bared to all, there was nothing separating her from the world, or from her seemingly inevitable violation.

Bruises and blood slowly dripped down ivory thighs, tears welled in Rose’s eyes, and the surrounding crowd roared with laughter at her humiliation. The beast in human form betwixt Rose’s legs snarled an animalistic laughter and started to pull down his pants. His legs were like tree trunks of knotted muscles, and as his turgid desires made themselves evident…

***

“Um, Ruth?”

The editor of the local newspaper tugged at his suspender strap and took a drag on his cigar; he was a thirty-year-old recently out of grad school, but he felt he had done the “newspaper editor” look just right.

The editor was reading the copy with the raised eyebrow of skepticism. Before him, a slightly overweight and decidedly dressed-down female journalist sat on the other side of his desk, slight beads of sweat forming on her forehead.